by Margaret Way
Yet sparkles continued to pulsate before her eyes. Perhaps she was mildly sun-struck? She had the unnerving notion that the little frisson of shock—unlike anything she had ever experienced before—was mutual. She even wondered what life might have in store if he decided to remain on Jimboorie? All around her people were laughing and clapping. Some were carrying colourful balloons. The thrill of the race had got to her. That was it! Her course was set. She was a happily engaged woman. She was to marry Scott Harper in December. A Christmas bride.
And there was Scott staring right at her. Too late she became aware of him. She felt the chill behind his smile. She knew him so well she had no difficulty recognising it. It came towards her like an ice-bearing cloud. He was furious and doing a wonderful job of hiding it. A triumphant looking Natasha was by his side, the two of them striking a near identical pose; one full of an over-bearing self-confidence. Maybe arrogance was a better word. Scott as Bradley Harper’s heir certainly liked to flaunt it. Natasha, as a Cunningham, did too.
Now Scott sauntered towards the dais around which the VIPs of the vast district milled, calling in a taunting voice, ‘You’ll absolutely have to tell us, Jimmy, where you learned how to ride like that? And the name of the guy who loaned you his horse. Or did you steal it?’ He held up defensive hands. ‘Only joking!’
As a joke it was way off, but Clay Cunningham held his ground, quite unmoved. ‘You haven’t changed one little bit, have you, Harper?’ he said with unruffled calm. ‘Lightning Boy was a parting gift from a good friend of mine. A beauty, isn’t he? He could run the race over.’
‘Like to give it another go?’ Scott challenged with an open lick of hostility.
‘Any time—when your horse is less spent.’ Clay Cunningham gently waved the silver cup aloft to another roar of applause.
Bruce McNevin, a concerned observer to all this, fearing a confrontation, moved quickly onto the dais to address the crowd. Even youngsters draped over the railings managed to fall silent. They were used to hearing from Mr. McNevin who was to say a few words then hand over the prize money of $20,000 dollars, well above the reward offered by other bush committees.
Her father was a handsome man, Carrie thought proudly. A man in his prime. He had a full head of dark hair, good regular features, a bony Celtic nose, a strong clean jawline and well defined cheekbones. He was always immaculately if very conservatively dressed. Bruce McNevin was definitely a ‘tweedy’ man.
While her father spoke Carrie stood not altogether happily within the half circle of Scott’s distinctly proprietorial arm. She was acutely aware of the anger and dented pride he was fighting to hold in. Scott wasn’t a good loser. Carrie didn’t know why but it was apparent he had taken an active dislike to Clay Cunningham.
Now Clay Cunningham, cheque in hand, made a response to her father that proved such a mix of modesty, confidence and dry humour that time and again his little speech was punctuated by appreciative bursts of laughter and applause. The crowd was still excited and the winner’s speech couldn’t have been more designed to please. The race goers had come to witness a good race and the Cup winner—a newcomer—had well and truly delivered. Not that anyone could really call him a newcomer. Heavens, he was a Cunningham! Cunningham was a name everyone knew. There was even a chance he might be able to save what was left of that once proud historic station, Jimboorie, though it would take a Herculean effort and a bottomless well of money.
‘Who the hell does he think he is?’ Scott muttered in Carrie’s ear, unable to credit the man ‘little Jimmy’ Cunningham, the urchin, had become. ‘And what’s with the posh voice?’
‘He is a Cunningham, Scott,’ Carrie felt obliged to point out. ‘It’s written all over him. And it may very well be he did get a good education.’
Scott snorted like an angry bull. ‘His father left here without a dime. Everyone knows that. Angus Cunningham might have sheltered them to spite the rest of his family but he couldn’t have paid his nephew anything in the way of wages. Reece Cunningham cut himself off from his own family when he married that little tramp.’
‘You know nothing about her, Scott.’ Carrie pulled away from him as discreetly as she could. ‘My mother says there was no proof whatsoever to any of the cruel stories that were circulated about her by the Cunninghams and the Campbells. Remember Clay’s father was expected to marry Elizabeth Campbell or Campbell-Moore as she is today.’
‘But the fool of a man didn’t,’ Scott retorted, staring down at her with a mixture of hurt and displeasure. ‘Whose side are you on anyway?’
She turned away from the glare in his eyes. ‘The side of fair mindedness, Scott. Now you’ll have to excuse me. Mamma wants me for more photographs.’
‘Go to her by all means.’ Scott bowed slightly. ‘I just hope Cunningham doesn’t plan on showing up tonight.’
His voice was iron hard.
CHAPTER TWO
WRESTLING with her unsettled feelings, Carrie dressed for the gala dance. Her party dress at least gave her uncomplicated pleasure. It was of white silk chiffon, feminine and floaty. White always married well with the golden tint in her skin, a legacy of that generous dollop of Italian blood. The bodice of her evening dress was perfectly plain, dipping low into the cleft between her breasts and hung from double spaghetti straps. The midcalf swishy skirt was richly embroidered with swirls of tiny seed pearls and silver sequins. She wore her hair hanging loose down her back—the way Scott liked it—but pulled away from her face and secured behind her ears with two beautiful antique hair combs encrusted with dazzling faux jewels. She should have felt on top of the world, instead she felt…apprehensive as though something unpleasant was going to happen or she was going to make a single irreversible mistake. So that’s what meeting up with Clay Cunningham had done for her!
Her mind kept jumping back to the look in Scott’s eyes. The hardness, the jealousy and the defiance. Scott scarcely knew Clay Cunningham. Scott could only have been twelve when Clay’s father had finally packed up and moved his family away, but she could have sworn Scott’s antagonism to Clay Cunningham, perhaps buried deep within him, had re-surfaced with a vengeance. She already knew about Scott’s jealous nature, but usually he kept it under control. Scott actually disliked even his own friends smiling at her let alone attempting a playful flirtation. It was a terrifying thought he might have intuited her spontaneous reaction to the man Clay Cunningham had grown into. She realised, too, with a guilty pang ever since Clay had told her she used to wave to him in the town when she was a little girl, she had been trying very hard to evoke a forgotten memory.
Goodness, what’s the matter with me? she asked her reflection. She was usually very level-headed. She even felt an impulse to start praying the evening would go well. Glancing up at the silver framed wall clock she saw it was almost eight. She really should be on her way. Scott was going to meet her in the foyer It was only a short walk from Dougherty’s pub where she was staying to the new Community Hall. The band had been underway for at least an hour, the infectious toe tapping music spilling out onto the street. The band was good. Her mother had arranged for the musicians to come from Brisbane. She started to sing along a little, trying to lift her spirits.
A final check in the mirror. Turning her head from side to side, she saw the sparkling light of her hair combs, one of innumerable little presents from her mother. Her parents were staying overnight with friends. She had elected to stay with Vince and Katie at the pub, as they always looked after her. The pub was spotlessly clean, the food not fancy, but good. She stayed there overnight when she was working for Paddy at the Bulletin. It was preferable to making the long drive home, then back again the following morning. Victory Downs was over a hundred miles west of the town—no distance in the bush—but she had to multiply that by four when she worked in town as she mostly did, two days in a row.
She had her silver sandalled foot on the second bottom tread of the staircase when Scott, wearing a white dinner jacket, and looking dazzlingly
handsome, swung through the front doors.
‘Hiyah, beautiful!’ His blue eyes travelled over her with pride of possession. ‘I am impressed!’
The overhead light glinted on his smooth golden hair and the white of his smile. If they had children—she wanted three, four was okay—they were bound to have golden hair, Carrie thought, holding out her hands to him.
‘There’s not going to be anyone to touch you!’ Scott continued to eye her, appreciatively. She looked as good to eat as a bowl of vanilla ice cream. He’d had a lot of girls over the years but Carrie was unique.
‘You look great yourself!’ she told him, sincerity in her velvety eyes.
‘All for you.’ He’d had a few drinks: now, he badly wanted pull her into his arms. He wanted to race her back upstairs, strip that pretty white dress off her, throw her down on the bed and make violent love to her. Only he was afraid of what might happen. Carrie, by his reckoning, had to be the last virgin over fifteen left on the planet. If that weren’t astonishing enough, she wanted it to remain that way until they were married. Could you beat it! He would never have agreed, only he saw her resolve was very strong. Or maybe she was playing it smart, teasing the living daylights out of him. She was his fiancée yet he had to keep his hands off her. Well, within limits. It was excruciatingly frustrating—more torture—when she filled him with such lust as he had ever known. Not that he had taken a corresponding vow of celibacy. He got release when he wanted it. Most girls were his for the asking including that bitch Natasha Cunningham. He’d had an on and off relationship with her for years. She was mad for him—and he knew it.
But it was innocent little Caroline McNevin he had always wanted. He guessed he had started to want her from when she was a yummy little teenager with budding breasts. He’d confidently thought virginity was a relic of the Dark Ages. He’d been stunned when Carrie told him she wanted to remain a virgin until their wedding night. At first he’d been sure it was a damned ploy to keep him interested, on a knife’s edge. As a ploy it certainly worked, but then he came to realise she was fair dinkum. It was impossible to believe! But, boy, wouldn’t he make up for the long hungry years of deprivation! Their wedding night couldn’t come soon enough.
They had scarcely made it into the packed hall with huge silver-blue disco balls suspended from the ceiling like glittering moons, when Scott’s grip on her arm tightened. Carrie let out a surprised little whimper. ‘Hey, Scott, you’re hurting!’
‘Sorry.’ He shifted his arm to around her waist, hauling her close to him. ‘That bastard has had the nerve to show up,’ he ground out, his eyes quickly finding Clay Cunningham’s rangy figure across the room.
So it wasn’t going to be a happy evening! Carrie’s heart began to thump. She lifted her eyes to Scott’s tight face. ‘Scott, please settle down. We’re here to enjoy ourselves aren’t we? Everybody will be watching. Clay Cunningham has a perfect right to be here. I expect there would be a lot of disappointed girls if he hadn’t shown up. Surely you’re not looking for trouble?’
‘He’d do well to steer clear of me,’ Scott gritted, unable to conceal a flare of jealousy so monstrous it startled even him. He tried to calm himself by sheer will power. So far as he was concerned it was Cunningham versus him! Across the packed hall Cunningham was standing head and shoulders above a group of silly giggling females. One let out a burst of ecstatic laughter, obviously thrilled there was an eligible bachelor in their midst. A man, moreover, who had expressed his desire to find himself a wife. Hadn’t they heard, the little fools, Jimboorie House was falling down? Didn’t they know Jimboorie Station would never be what it was again? Or would any man do? Girls fell in and out of love so fast. They were like kids with some wonderful new toy.
All right, Cunningham was handsome. Scott was honest enough to admit that. All the Cunninghams were. Even Natasha. And Cunningham had that look about him, he recognised, of a fine natural athlete. How had that little weed of a kid who he’d loved slapping around turned into this guy? Scott wasn’t even sure he could take Cunningham in a fight, even though he was a good amateur boxer, a welterweight champion at university. The fact Cunningham had beaten him for the Cup Scott took as a scalding defeat. And he’d been beaten so easily! That was what stunned and humiliated him. He was used to being king pin. To cap it off his fiancée had presented Cunningham with the Cup. He’d watched their eyes, then their hands meet. It had only taken him a second to register the look on Carrie’s face. It had filled him with jealousy and unease.
Cunningham had stirred her interest and attention. That wasn’t going to be allowed to happen. Carrie was his! He owned her. Or near enough. She was wearing his ring.
I mightn’t be able to stop you looking, but don’t touch, you bastard! Scott swung Carrie into his arms, whisking her onto the dance floor. At least the music was great. It filled up the room.
After each bracket of numbers, the crowd clapped their appreciation. One of the band, a sexy looking guy in tight jeans, a red satin shirt and cowboy boots, took over the microphone to a roar of applause and began to sing, launching into the first romantic ballad of the night; one that was currently top of the charts. His voice was so attractive the dancers gave themselves up to it….
Carrie didn’t have the usual succession of dance partners she’d had in the past. Things had changed since she had become engaged to Scott. She realised she was starting to worry that Scott was so possessive. She wasn’t property. She was a woman, a human being. The last thing she wanted was a stormy married life with a control freak for a husband. But then her thoughts turned to how understanding Scott was about her desire to remain a virgin until their marriage. It pleased her that he was so considerate of her wishes. She had never been one to bow to peer pressure so she hadn’t been part of the general sexual experimentation that had attended her university years. She knew some of her fellow students had labelled her a bit of an extremist, but the idea of sex without genuine strong feeling had little appeal for her. It was her body that would be invaded after all. Men came from a different place. Most of them she had found, saw sex as satisfying an appetite like food and drink. At the same time they were notoriously quick to pin cruel labels on their willing female partners. Carrie thought there was not only a moral standard, but a health standard that made fastidiousness matter.
Then again she had to take stock of the fact she had no real conflict with remaining a virgin. There was even the odd moment when she had to consider perhaps she hadn’t met the man who could overturn all her defences? Or maybe her libido wasn’t of the intense sort? Not that Scott hadn’t awakened her romantic desires. He had. She knew about sensual pleasure. But still it had been relatively easy to keep to her vow. Or it had been up until now.
She was momentarily alone. Scott was caught up in settling an argument about some polo match when she heard her name—her full name—spoken.
‘You dance beautifully, Caroline. Will you dance with me?’
He was standing in front of her, looking down at her from his superior height. The corners of his mouth were upturned in a smile. His dark blue eyes held a current of electricity that bathed her in its glow.
She managed to smile back. It felt like taking a risk. A tremble shook her body. The music…the laughter…the voices…oddly started to recede. She knew her lips parted but for the smallest time—maybe a few seconds—no words came out.
‘Caroline?’
The oxygen came back to her brain. ‘Yes of course I will,’ she said, unaware a nerve was pulsing in the hollow of her throat.
His arms came around her. He held her lightly yet his arms enclosed her. Letting him hold her—she knew—vastly increased the risks.
She couldn’t relax. Not there and then. He was, she realised, gifted with sexual radiance and he was using that gift. Consciously or unconsciously? She couldn’t tell.
She tried to distract herself by looking at the sea of happy, excited faces around them.
‘I know, I’m too tall for you.’
Clay’s voice was wry. ‘And I’m not much of a dancer. Never had time to learn.’
‘No, you’re fine.’ Indeed, it seemed to her he moved with natural ease and rhythm.
‘And you’re kind.’ He pulled her in a little closer and she lifted her hand higher on his shoulder. She could feel the strength in it; the warmth of his skin. He wasn’t formally attired like Scott. He wore a beige coloured linen jacket over a black T-shirt and black jeans. A simple outfit, yet on him it looked very sophisticated. He would have absolutely no difficulty finding a wife. In fact, the frenzy had already started. It was her role to watch. Never let it be forgotten she was taken!
She realised she was luxuriating in his clean male scent, redolent of the open air, of fragrant wood smoke. Inhaled, it left her with a feeling akin to a delicious languor. The overhead disco lights dazzled, throwing out blue and silver rays over the swirling crowd, their faces and clothes streaked with light.
For long minutes they danced without speaking, he leading her expertly for all he claimed he couldn’t dance. She was beginning to feel a degree of trepidation at the forces set loose by their physical contact. She didn’t want it. She certainly didn’t need it. She didn’t even understand it. Her reaction wasn’t normal. She couldn’t allow herself to think it was akin to being in a state of thrall!
Be careful with this! A warning voice said.
There was a pressure behind Carrie’s rib cage. Could he incite emotion as easily as he could incite his high mettled horse to victory? She feared that might be the case. It was even possible he could be looking at her as a conquest? Retribution for the way he had been treated? A perverted desire to win over Scott Harper’s fiancée? She saw how he had won the Cup. His was a powerful determination and maybe she was next on his list? Only time would prove her right.
